Forget theme! Instead ask, “And so, what’s my point?”

Theme is something writers often talk about, especially literary writers. You rarely hear a romance writer agonize over nailing her theme before she begins writing. Which might be why “genre” fiction often has more to say about the human condition — and way more accessibly — than, um, some of the more notoriously impenetrable literary novels touted as the pinnacle of high art. (Read: Ulysses. No, on second thought, don’t. Most boring book ever, even with the dirty bits. No one is “above” narrative – it’s how the brain is wired to process information, not something we can, or should, transcend. Sorry, James.)

The problem with the preoccupation with theme is that it obscures what really matters: having something specific to say to someone. Story is communication. And yet, when it comes to teaching writing, theme often comes before anything else.[pullquote]The problem with the preoccupation with theme is that it obscures what really matters: having something specific to say to someone.[/pullquote]

All this focus on theme is something I’ve come to believe derails writers from the get-go. And by the get-go, I mean kindergarten. I’ve recently been doing work with a brilliantly maverick public school district, helping them incorporate “story” into how they teach writing. Which, as it turns out, means undoing a lot (okay, just about all) of how writing is currently taught, given state mandated we’re-going-to-test-for-it-because-its-technically-quantifiable curriculum.

Case in point: theme.

Theme is a concept that often makes seasoned writers quake – it feels esoteric, somehow highbrow, definitely academic — the sort of thing that scholars bestow upon “great literature” so graduate students can endlessly debate these novels in small, earnest seminars. Or, as a student of mine, who’d just received an MFA from one of the most prestigious universities in the country, said of her experience: “They made me read books that made me cry.” Beat. “Because they were so boring.”

Rule of thumb: Narrative gives birth to theme, not the other way around. Theme without narrative is a big fat sleep-inducing “Who cares?” Sure, theme might be helpful when analyzing something that has already been written, but it’s insanely unhelpful when trying to write something from scratch.

And yet, kids as young as seven are asked up front, before putting pencil to paper, “What’s your theme?” Just trying to define how theme manifests in a story is hard enough. To then parse it out into something specific enough to sit down and begin writing? Impossible. Why? Because theme itself is general, vague, and thus meaningless as a starting point. [pullquote]Rule of thumb: Narrative gives birth to theme, not the other way around. Theme without narrative is a big fat sleep-inducing “Who cares?”[/pullquote]

It’s kind of ironic, because theme is actually something incredibly simple: What does this story say about human nature? Which means that, by definition, every effective story has a theme, whether or not the writer has given it a moment’s thought.

And here’s the rub, when the teacher asks, “What’s your theme?” she’s not actually asking about theme at all. What she’s really asking is something much simpler, much clearer, and much more helpful.

Translation: “What’s your point?”

Think about it. Every story makes a point. Otherwise, it’s meaningless – just a bunch of random things that happen — and how uninvolving is that? It’s the point you’re making that bestows meaning on what happens, engages the reader by allowing her to add things up, and presto! Your theme emerges, all on its own.

So what is a story’s point?

Ask yourself: What do I want to say to someone? What is the thing I want to teach them that they don’t already know? Unless readers have some idea what your point is, they won’t know what anything means. And, as you write, neither will you.

Think about it in real life. Your co-worker is rambling on about something, you struggle mightily to keep exasperation off your face, thinking, “Okay, okay, what is your point?”

This isn’t to say that as a writer you might not know your theme from the get go, but even then, focusing on it can do more damage than it’s worth. Why? ‘Cause by definition, theme revolves around a universal. And as we know, there are a gazillion ways to render any universal. So rather than helping you zero in on the particular story you’re telling, settling on a “theme” tends to leave you with a general, abstract concept that can feel overwhelming, fuzzy and – let’s face it — exhausting. Thus you decide to take a nice refreshing nap and figure it out later, i.e. the day after never.

The takeaway is: You can never get from the universal (aka the theme) to the specific (aka the story itself). Only through the very specific can you reveal a universal truth.

Your point, on the other hand, is what your story is saying, specifically – and that’s what you need to sharpen before you begin writing.[pullquote]You can never get from the universal (aka the theme) to the specific (aka the story itself). Only through the very specific can you reveal a universal truth.[/pullquote]

Here’s an example:

Let’s say the theme is: “the enduring power of love.” But where do you go from there? Where’s the conflict? And hey, what do you mean by love, exactly? After all, your idea of love and mine might be quite different. And love between whom? Romantic love? Parental love? Love in general? And what will test that endurance? What will it cost, emotionally? In other words: What lesson can I learn, what inside info can I glean to help me better navigate my life? There’s no clue for the reader in that theme, and no clue for the writer, either.

Okay, now let’s start with the point. Let’s say it’s: Even when the heartless, rigid dictates of society and religion conspire to separate mother and infant son, their love creates a lifelong bond, and the desire to reunite, which remains strong – and unyielding – whether or not they find each other. Talk about the enduring power of love against all odds, not to mention what it says about our capacity as humans. While, sure, very few of us might actually be in Philomena’s position (great movie; amazing true story), we can easily extrapolate what it teaches us about love, faith and bonding and so find uses for it – meaning for it – in our own lives.

In a nutshell:

Your story’s point is your guiding star, the yardstick by which you can gauge the meaning of everything that happens, and so keep your story on course.

As the inspiring teacher I’ve been working with recently asked of a group of rapt first graders: “When your mom tells you you’re going on vacation, what’s the first question you ask?” They all grinned, this was an easy question. “Where are we going!” they chimed.

“Yeah,” one earnest little boy said, “Otherwise, how will you know what to pack?”

Indeed.

Same with a story. “What’s the point?” equals “Where are we going?” If you don’t know it from the beginning, how can you craft a story that will take you there? And, even more important, encourage your reader to come along for the ride.

Just think of your readers as that class of eager six year olds. Your story is going pluck them out of their everyday lives and take them on a vacation. Their first question (read: your first question, before you begin to write) will always be: And so? Where are we going?

Forget theme. But when it comes to your point? Don’t leave home without it!

What about you? What point are you making with the novel you’re working on now? What inside info will it give your reader when it comes to navigating this cockeyed caravan called life?

Comments

I tend to write with a general premise to guide me and the theme emerges at the completion of the first draft. I find that adhering rigidly to a preconceived theme gets in the way of story telling. But that’s just me. Thanks for another thought provoking post, Lisa.

I hear you! I completely agree, theme tends to emerge as the story unfolds (and honestly, sometimes I wish we could just banish the notion of theme altogether — it’s an academic construct that often simply muddies the waters). But . . . knowing your point? That’s quite different. And, the great thing about it is that it doesn’t have to be rigid, it can give, change and even do a u-turn. But, having some idea what it is before leaving the starting gate sure helps keep the story from romping in irrelevant fields.

Lisa, A few years ago I got invited to talk with my niece’s Brownie troop about books. Instead of me talking (boring) I asked this group of 7 and 8-yr-olds them what they liked about stories. There seemed to be two consistent answers. One was that they learned something from stories. The other was that they got to go somewhere new. I found this instructive as a writer. And I’ve also had that weird sinking feeling when asked,”what’s your theme?” But if I ask myself what I want to say, I stop sinking and start to lift a little. So, ‘where are we going?” is now pinned up over my computer. Thank you!

Lisa, you must have had my face on your target when you wrote this piece. English teacher: guilty as charged. I remember fumbling over the question, So what’s your story about, at the first writers’ conference I attended, and answering with my well-burnished road of life theme. After an extra 2 years of revisions, I’ve finally seen the trees as well as the forest.

I could quibble a bit over which comes first, theme or story, but it’s a chicken-or-the-egg question. Never mind. For readers the chicken and the egg must both already be on the farm.

For writers the question to start with is the one you end with: What’s my point? There are follow up questions too, I think, like, how you gonna get that point across?

Through the action of the story, yes, that’s the best way. There are others. Characters can make the point, or argue its opposite, or the point can be made by the author not just in the plot but in miniature in individual scenes.

It’s somewhat like the pantomime (a silent synopsis) which the traveling players in Act III of Hamlet put on, at Hamlet’s request, to summarize the spoken play (“The Murder of Gonzago”) which will later enrage King Claudius. Theme can be rehearsed many times.

Symbols, parallels and reversals can also echo the point. Most of all, the point ought to be one which the protagonist not only gets but struggles to deny, resists and to which he or she finally must surrender.

The point that I’d like to add to your excellent post, then, is this: To infuse the point in the story, rather than to simply tack it on, means finding scores of ways throughout the manuscript to demonstrate, make, question, refute and grapple with the point.

If a point is worth making then it’s not going to be an easy one to make–at least, if you’re going to make your story good.

After all, if the goal was simply to state the point, you could embroider it on a pillow and have done with it.

As for how to get the point across, that’s where the real work begins. To me, the next crucial layer is what you say so astutely here: “Most of all, the point ought to be one which the protagonist not only gets but struggles to deny, resists and to which he or she finally must surrender.” YES!

That’s the engine that drives everything, and the yardstick against which all else is measured.

Loved the post and loved this in your response to Donald, “After all, if the goal was simply to state the point, you could embroider it on a pillow and have done with it.”

This was such a relief to me as I have struggled with trying to define a theme in my police procedural novels. I read somewhere that that was a good thing to do, so I was trying to be a good little girl. LOL There are underlying themes in the stories, but the main points revolve around the crimes and solving the crimes. Having that clearly defined for myself as I begin a new book in the series is what I think is most important.

I love this post! From a reader’s perspective the “point” to a book would be much more important and interesting than a theme. However, perhaps a story can have both a theme and a point. If the theme is “the enduring power of love”, then the point could be “to show how love can endure despite circumstances” or something along those lines. One of the lesser themes in my WIP is hospitality, so maybe one could say the point is to show how kindness and hospitality can prevail and melt even the darkest hearts (if you’ll forgive that somewhat cheesy tagline :) . I’ve never read Ulysses, but it doesn’t sound like much fun. The most literary fiction I’ve read is Cloud Atlas, and that would be a great demonstration of theme vs. point.

Thanks so much, Jen! I couldn’t agree more. Point is something very specific (thus gritty, interesting, engaging), the theme is simply the general category it fits into (abstract, academic, and much less intriguing) — if that makes a lick of sense. Love your tagline! Makes me think of grilled cheese and ‘smores . . . and reminds me that dinner is soon. Ah, here’s to the basics!

Really fine thoughts here, Lisa. I agree with CG that theme emerges at the end of a draft. I find that when I write, I often don’t know my theme when composing the first few pages. And even if I ask, what’s this story or what’s my point, I tend to get a blank in my head. Very frustrating. And it’s not something you can force into your story. So your “Narrative gives birth to theme, not the other way around” makes sense to me and my writing process. When I explore the narrative through the characters, I learn a lot by the end of the story and theme is often the revelation for me as the writer. NARRATIVE GIVES BIRTH TO THEME! Great mantra. Thanks.

I start with a character I want to explore (the most brilliant mathematician ever born), devise a plot around him that allows me to dissect him (he’s a mole who needs to retire to save his daughter), and somewhere along the way the point/theme just seem to surface on their own (love is a more powerful force than intellect).

I’m not sure whether I’m grateful or regretful that I was oblivious of all of this when I started writing. I did not consider what my theme(s) would be (yay!). I also did not ask myself what my point was (:-/).

I’ve said before that writing my first draft was like transcribing for my muse. It almost seemed like I had to hurry just to get everything down. The upside: didn’t worry at all about what it all meant, which was very freeing. The downside: the four and a half years and counting since of figuring out my point, then reshaping and honing it to get it across to readers.

I don’t really have any regrets. But, yeah, I’m thinking that next time I’ll ask myself what my point is before I finish an entire trilogy of manuscripts. Thanks for making your point so clear, Lisa!

Thank you, Vaughn! My theory is: zeroing in on your point before you being writing is the only thing that cuts down on time spent rewriting. Not only that, it leads to deeper, richer and more engaging stories. Not just because you know your point, but because by digging down to it, you know what your protagonist wants, why, and what s/he needs to overcome internally to get it — BUT, THIS IS THE BIGGIE — you also know the specific, subjective memory-driven lens through which s/he will view everything, and thus the meaning s/he reads into it. And writing forward without knowing that is like writing a biography of someone you don’t know the first thing about.

I had a huge revelation a few years ago when reading Missing Joseph by Elizabeth George: the best way to make the point is to make it in different ways through the main plot and the various subplots. Each thread explored the same theme, in a different way. Variations on a theme, as a classical composer would say.

Or as Don Maass says, explore through the action of different characters, through symbols, parallels, resistance, and more. In my WIP, it’s the conflict or contrast between caring for someone and showing your concern, on the one hand, and interfering on the other. Concern vs. over-protectiveness.

Yes! With one caveat — the point is what drives the protagonist’s inner struggle from beginning to end. Everything that happens — the resistance, parallels etc — derive their meaning from it. Personally, I’m not big on symbols, largely because they so often feel “meaningful” in a way that makes me think the writer is hovering over me, poking me, to be sure I get the, um, point ;-).

My protagonist in my current WIP loses all his worldly posessions and is cast out into a world where he must rely on others and, ultimately, his faith. It’s a microcosm of the state of America–a nation that has grown to rely on her own riches, which we discover are fragile and of little value when compared to the spirit of her people.

That would be my overriding theme–faith in God and fellow man is of far more value than temporal wealth.

I admit I didn’t start with that in mind. I just wanted to write a dystopian novel about the aftermath of the last financial crash in America. The theme grew from that as I began my outline.

I guess the inside info I’d like to give my readers is that we cannot rely on what society perceives as wealth and prosperity. It’s all like fiat currency. Things only hold value if we preceive it to be so. Once we lose our wealth and all worldly possessions, we are far from destroyed. It is then we discover what is truly important–faith and sacrifice–and can begin rebuilding our lives and our nation.

Make sense? It feels a bit rambling. Everything feels a bit rambling to a severe plotter.

How you describe the ‘point’ sounds an awful lot like theme. Also, theme/point arises from the story. If you set about to make a point, your story will sound preachy and didactic. Also, what does genre fiction offer as a prope into the human condition? What is the point of genre fiction? To offer a satisfying story adhering to set of rules. Hardly a prope into the human condition.

The thing I love best about WU (except for all the great people here): reading a post on craft and having to go immediately to my wip or its accompanying notes and write down an idea or bit of dialogue that has come to mind. Thanks, Lisa.

Could we say that working out the point of the story is what gets a person to keep reading a book, and that theme is what the reader takes with them once they close it?

I’ve been thinking a lot about process lately – the whole planning vs. pantsing thing. I wrote my first book by the seat of my pants and it sold. But it took six years. I’m almost done with my second book, this time with a deadline, so I thought I’d try planning. With your book beside me, I wrote up a loose outline and beatsheet and they have guided me through the second book much faster. But one thing I’ve noticed that is the same for both books is that I don’t consciously know what my point is until I’m done with the first couple of drafts. My brain just doesn’t work as fast as my instincts. So I let my story instinct lead the way, with the terrified hope that my brain will be able to catch up at some point. I know this probably doesn’t make sense. Like, why don’t I just sit down and figure it out before I tell the story? Because when I try to figure it out, the writing feels and reads forced. I feel like I’m trying to strangle “meaning” into something instead of letting the story lead me somewhere organic. Only then, when it’s all laid out before me, does my brain catch up. It’s one of the best moments in writing a book for me. That moment when I go, “Aha! So it’s not about A, it’s about B.” Then I get to go back through the story and layer in those deeper moments and realizations for my character.

I think everyone’s instinct for story is slightly different. Some get everything in one fell swoop. Others, like me, are a little slower to understand their own ideas. Ultimately, it about what works. Thanks so much for writing your priceless book.

Hi Lisa, First off, thanks for the advice on “Ulysses.” I had put it on my “too be read” list for next year, now I can take it off. I have been thinking about how writers are asked to think about theme: “what do you have to say about the human condition” and all the aspects of the human condition people mention: love, freedom, justice, etc. are all big abstract ideas. And you can’t wrap your brain around them. “What’s your point” is so much easier to grasp. And it gets really interesting when as you say in “Wired for Story” a story is about how a character struggles with their inner question. If you can relate the inner question to “your point” I think you may have something to work with.

Amen, hope you’ve buried “themes” forever with your article. They are the sure recipe for snores while stories engage and enchant. Leave them for the academics while the rest of us create and devour stories.

Uh, gee … I loved _Ulysses._ Read it twice (once to get over the shock of it, once to really appreciate it). It absolutely knows where it is going. It simply doesn’t telegraph directions. _Ulysses_ changed me as a reader, and as a writer. Not something I can say for many genre books, and I’ve read lots.

Everyone has different tastes, but for me it’s the difference between a perfectly seasoned, balanced, solid meal, and a bag of salty chips. Sometimes you like salty chips, yeah, but you’ll never grow big and strong eating just that.

You’re right, this is what I have been agonizing over lately with the novel that I am writing. When people ask “What’s the theme?” I kind of role my eyes. But when I read this and changed it to “What’s my point?” I had an immediate answer. Thanks for that! Great article.

Focusing on theme rather than point imposes external constraints on creativity. Theme is an extension, not a catalyst. Recently, one of my colleagues at the college suggested we rewrite our syllabi to include required readings built around themes. Perusing the text, I found this approach eliminated some of the best literary examples. If points are our GPS, then we can let themes tell us, upon arrival, how well we traveled.